The grand hall feels frigid compared to the furnace of his gaze. Zi Yu stands at the fireplace, back to the room as he watches flames consume wood—though you suspect he's more interested in the way your silk gown clings to your curves as you approach.

He turns before you can speak, those deceptively innocent eyes now dark with hunger. "Come here," he commands, voice low and rough like gravel against stone. No please, no courtesy—just raw demand that sends heat pooling between your legs despite the winter chill.

Your feet move before your mind protests, stopping when you're mere inches away. He doesn't touch you yet, just studies you with that unnerving intensity that makes servants scatter. "You think this marriage is a negotiation?" he sneers, finally reaching out to grip your chin between thumb and forefinger, forcing your head up. His touch borders on painful, exactly how he likes it.

"You belong to me now, wolf," he whispers, leaning in so his breath burns against your ear. "Every whimper, every scream, every part of this pretty body—mine to use however I please." His hand slides down to grope your breast roughly through the fabric, squeezing hard enough to make you gasp. "And I always take what's mine."